


There's Got to be a Morning After

by Colette_Capricious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Almost a drabble, M/M, Weecest, just sam still in school, no particular age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4178277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious





	There's Got to be a Morning After

Dean wakes up with the sense memory of Sam’s hand on his dick and the smell of sex invading his senses. He groans and presses his face deep into the pillow.

Sam had jerked him off, his hand tight and perfect around Dean’s dick, his breath hot on Dean’s neck. As he bit back a cry, and came silently over Sam’s hand, he felt Sam’s body clench and his release splash hot against Dean’s ass. Sam came silently, his teeth digging into Dean’s shoulder.

Remembering, Dean prods at the hot bruise. The soft throb of pain makes heat bloom low in his groin. His dick thickens and he presses his hips into the hard mattress.

He can hear the water running in the shower. Sammy always was an early riser. And it’s a school day. In a few minutes, he’d been done. On any normal day, after he’d showered, he’d brush his teeth, comb his hair (as if it would make any difference), and the come out wrapped in whatever poor excuse for a towel they had and get dressed. 

This morning is as far from normal as Dean could imagine.

He hears the water shut off. Hears the sounds of Sam getting out of the shower, then the water in the sink. By now, Dean should be up and pulling on some clothes, scraping some sort of breakfast and lunch together for Sam, but he can’t bring himself to leave the bed. If he does, then it was another day. If he gets up, then there would be conversation, and Sammy’s eyes. 

Dean doesn’t know if Sam’s expression will be accusing, or hurt, or scared. Or worse, wanting. Dean doesn’t know what would be worse.

There are no sounds coming from the bathroom now. Sam should be bustling into the room, digging through his clothes, talking to Dean about whatever dorky shit he’s studying at school, what book he is supposed to be reading and when Dean should pick him up. But there is only silence. 

Dean lays there for a second, listening. Still nothing. Is that a sob? Is Sam crying? Oh god, please don’t let Sam be crying. Jesus. The morning after with his little brother is not something Dean is prepared to handle. It is way above his pay grade.

If only he didn’t want to do it again.

This should be easy. He could - he should - blame it on being drunk, blame it on Sammy for staring the whole thing, blame on it temporary fucking insanity. But he can’t. Dean wants it. He didn’t know he wanted it, didn’t know Sam wanted it, but it’s something he can’t unknow.

And Sam’s still not out of the bathroom. 

He pictures Sam, all pink and warm from the shower. Skin tan and unmarked, still unscarred from this life. He’s almost as tall as Dean is now, but skinny. He used up all this resources growing up, not out. He’s going to be big, taller than Dean, taller than Dad, and so, so pretty.

Fuck.

Dean reaches down and wonders if anyone else has noticed how pretty Sam is yet. Has any girl pushed past his shy awkwardness and kissed him in a dark band room. Any boy in the locker room noticed his lanky muscles and big cock? Dean imagines a faceless boy pressing his too pretty, virginal Sam against the tiles of some high school shower room, and he reaches between his legs with a groan. 

Sam’s been in the bathroom too long.

“Sam?” Dean forces out, hoping he doesn’t sound like he has his hand on his cock. “You okay? You’re gonna be late.” He’s trying for a semblance of normality. Maybe Sam’s scared. Scared of what Dean will say. Maybe last night was just a fluke. Something that shouldn’t have happened, and will never happen again. Dean has a brief flash of regret that he never got his mouth on Sam. Never kissed him, never felt his fat dick slide between his lips.

Sam doesn’t answer, but he opens the door to the bathroom. He comes out of the bathroom, threadbare white towel wrapped around his slim hips. It doesn’t cover much. Sam doesn’t look Dean in the eye as he walks over to the bed.

“I’m good,” he says, fiddling with the edge of the towel. He’s close enough for Dean to touch and he’s not even making a pretense of getting dressed.

“You’re going to be late to school,” Dean says as he pulls the covers back slowly off his body. He’s naked, the boxes he wore to bed long gone, used to clean up both him and Sam after their last orgasms.

Sam watches as Dean’s body is revealed. Dean sees him bite his lip, sees his fingers clench and release on the edge of the towel. _Goddamn it._ Dean knows he’s sick, knows he should be repulsed, but all he can think is that the one person he loves in this whole damn world, is standing there, looking at him and, judging by the way the towel is tenting up, just begging to be fucked. Dean can never resist Sam when he really wants something. He reaches for the towel.

“Do you want to go to school today, Sammy?” Dean’s voice is low.

Sam shakes his head rapidly, still not making eye contact with Dean. Dean tugs gently on the rough cloth and Sam takes a step closer to the bed, skinny thighs knocking against the edge.

“Then come back to bed,” he says, pulling Sam down on top of him. “I’ll call you in.” This time, he does get him mouth on Sammy’s. It feels like home.


End file.
